Body Check
by lightsindistress
Summary: Namie is beginning to notice something changing about Izaya, specifically his weight.
1. Chapter 1

"You've gotten awful thin lately, Izaya." The man in question stiffened for a brief moment before turning his head. "Observant today, are we?" Izaya questioned as he lifted his towel from his shoulders and ruffled his hair. "Well, as clever as you think you are, you're wrong. I haven't lost any weight, Namie."

"Do you always have to be snarky?" Namie said.

"Is there a reason for me not to be?"

"Maybe you should stop putting up a facade."

Izaya dramatically sighed, throwing the towel on the floor and raising his arms above his head for a stretch. "I don't appreciate you trying to analyze me, _secretary_." Namie rolled her eyes. "That's my job".

"Actually, _info broker_, that's not your job."

"I'm done with this conversation, Namie," Izaya clipped, remembering the original topic and not wanting Namie to push any further.

Namie sighed, equally as dramatically. She pushed her paperwork to the side, putting her head in her hands. "What, tough day?" Izaya said as he picked up the towel and walked toward the bathroom. He hung the towel on the hook behind the door, and then proceeded to stare himself down in the mirror. He did this every time he went into the bathroom- a body check.

"Yeah, sure," Namie said. "I'm not going to spill my heart out to you though, so just forget it."

"I never asked you to." Izaya lowered the towel around his waist and touched his hip bones, unsatisfied with their appearance. "And what, do you still not trust me?"

"No way. Anyone who ever places a single ounce of trust in you is either stupid or has a death wish."

Izaya chuckled at that. He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later to find Namie back at her work.

**Thanks for reading! More will be up tomorrow! Comments are greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

He had always prided himself on the fact that his personality was made by himself, and not a dysfunction in his brain. The snarkiness, the lack of showed emotions often perceived as a form of sociopathy, the ability to deeply analyze human life to an almost unbelievable point - that was his. He created that; it was completely his doing and decision to present himself this way. And it wasn't just a way of presenting himself; it was mostly authentic. He didn't come home from a meeting with a client or a quick game of cat-and-mouse with Shizu-chan and turn into a softy; the cynical behaviors continued behind closed doors.

However, he did still have feelings. People may think he's a sociopath, but that's simply not the case. The emotions are there, because he doesn't have a disorder that doesn't allow them to be. Additionally, as much as he hates to admit and acknowledge it, he's human. People know him as Izaya Orihara, the info broker that psycho-analyzes people and manipulates them for entertainment. Again, the things people say are true, but it would be inaccurate to say that nothing ever affects him. He's had moments where the humanity bleeds through and he feels guilty. These are circumstances that no one sees, because he keeps the emotions either in the safe space of his apartment when Namie isn't there, or more commonly, in his head.

He refuses to let people in. The wall he's built around him over the years has, seemingly, become a part of him. At this point, if you broke the wall, you'd shatter Izaya into pieces as well.

Fingers trembled as they rested on the counter, pushing Izaya over to the toilet. Walking on his own would be impossible; he felt like he was about to collapse. Ignoring his body's warnings, he knelt down in front of the toilet and put his fingers down his throat without a second thought.

He retched and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach into the once clean water of the toilet bowl before him. Tears formed in his eyes and threatened to fall. He hated this. He hated this. He hated this.

Shaking, he lifted a weak arm a flushed the toilet. He leaned back against the wall, trying to compose himself. Everything hurt. His throat burned.

Tears didn't fall, though. He held them in. He hasn't let himself cry in months. It was unhealthy- he knew that- but he didn't want to lose the superiority he tricked himself into believing he had. Struggling to maintain his "godlike" behaviors had become so difficult, and he couldn't bear the idea of losing control over everyone. Whether he was just a human or; though unlikely; a god, he needed to feel superior.

He pushed himself onto his feet, and after steadying himself, took a look in the mirror. An audible sigh left his lips. Or maybe, it was more of a choked sob. The figure staring back at him didn't even seem familiar anymore. He wanted to slam his fist into the mirror and shatter it, getting rid of that pathetic man on the other side.

As Izaya stands here, distraught over his appearance and stuck on the idea of gaining weight, the world outside moves on. That's what Izaya didn't like. While he was in his apartment struggling to even look at himself, everyone else was roaming around Ikebukuro and Shinjuku, living their lives. Izaya was stuck. He was beginning to lose the game of life he was so desperate to win.

—

Izaya Orihara hadn't eaten in 23 hours. He'd be damned if he'd allow himself to break this fast. _Not this time_.

The silence was getting to him. Namie sat across the room, tapping away on her computer. Izaya did the same, occasionally turning around to look out the window, observing the people meandering about down below.

It seemed Namie was beginning to get tired of the silence as well.

"Please eat something."

Izaya focused his gaze on his computer. He didn't like this. "I'm busy," He said, tapping away on the keyboard.

"Too busy to eat?"

Izaya didn't answer.

"You're ridiculous."

Namie was beginning to worry about her employer. Of course she wasn't very fond of him, but it would be a lie to say she wasn't noticing Izaya's physical changes and becoming a bit concerned.

She wasn't going to make any assumptions at this point, as she had only just begun to notice it. Taking action didn't seem necessary.

After all, Izaya was strong. At least, that was how he presented himself. Namie kept trying to assure herself that Izaya was perfectly fine, and that there's nothing for her to be worried about. But every time she gets a look at Izaya's bony fingers, or his sharp collarbone that peeks out of his v-neck shirt, her mindset changes. Something _has_ to be wrong.

—

Two hours later, Izaya sends Namie home for the day.

He was struggling to keep his cool. He was unbelievably hungry. He hadn't gone over 24 hours in months. Namie had begun asking him questions about god even knows what, and Izaya couldn't bear having to keep his act up for the rest of the evening. It was becoming too much.

Now alone, Izaya debated getting out of the house and going to Russia Sushi.

His body needs nutrients. He needs _food_. That's what the logical part of Izaya's head was saying.

The other part, however, strongly disagreed. He was fat, wasn't he? He didn't need food, it had only been a day. That's nothing! Giving in to mere cravings would be pathetic. He isn't anorexic at all. Sick people don't eat nonstop all day. He isn't sick yet. It's still _not enough_.

He didn't want to be normal. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to look completely and utterly _sick_. If he died in the process, then so be it.

At the growl of his stomach, Izaya stood up and strolled into his kitchen. He opened the fridge and, completely ignoring every bit of food, he grasped a water bottle and began chugging

Not today. He _won't give in today_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Because two people have made comments about it, yes, this is based on personal experience. This is basically just my vent fic, and I write when I feel like shit. It's just me projecting onto Izaya tbh. And no, I am _not pro-ana_. I am super pro-recovery, just doing bad with it myself. If this fic will trigger you in any way _PLEASE_ do not read. Stay safe please. And if you have an eating disorder PLEASE get help.**

Namie began spending most of her time keeping a close eye on her employer, rather than actually doing the work she was assigned. She began to notice a lot of the little things, which to be fair, she did have to look pretty hard for. Izaya was very sneaky and could hide things well, she could give him credit for that.

He was careless about some things, though. Namie was able to catch him absentmindedly rubbing his collarbones while he tricked people in the chatroom. He'd sometimes wrap his hand around his wrist and check to see if the fingers could touch. Namie wasn't sure if he was doing this on purpose, _wanting_ someone to notice, or if he's doing it automatically and not giving it a second thought.

Namie filed her paperwork, and Izaya sat at his desk with his feet up and his phone in his hand. She looked up to stare at him. He looked the same as before, weight-wise. He looked tired, though. It wouldn't seem that way to anyone else, as Izaya still had his mask on. Although his face was unusually pale, he still wore that shit eating grin like his life depended on it.

"You're staring, Namie," Izaya cooed, not looking away from his phone. Namie scoffed, pushing all of her paperwork to the side.

"Thirsty?"

"You wish."

"No, I don't."

"Can I ask you something?" Namie looked serious for a second. Not the type of serious she normally is, but serious with a hint of… concern.

Izaya looked up at the sound of Namie's change of tone. Once he met her eyes for a second, he looked back down at his phone and continued to type.

"Why are you asking? Just say it."

That sardonic bitch.

"What's been up with you lately?"

Izaya chuckled, his smirk growing wider.

"What are you referring to?"

"I'm referring to the fact that I haven't seen you eat anything in weeks," Namie spat, getting straight to the point. Izaya looked up, unamused, and immediately grasped what this situation entails.

"Namie, do you really think I don't eat? I thought you were smarter than that," Izaya said, earning an irritated glance from Namie. "If I wasn't eating, I wouldn't be able to do my job."

"Then when are you eating?"

"When _you _are not here."

"Why?"

"Namie, what are you trying to accomplish here?"

Namie sighed. Why was Izaya so damn difficult?

"Would you just answer the goddamn question?"

Izaya began to laugh and stood up, making his way over to Namie's desk. He took a seat on her desk, facing away from her.

"Because I don't want to," Izaya said simply. "What?" Namie questioned, seriously irritated with her boss.

Izaya began to ramble on, about what Namie had no clue. She wasn't paying attention. Her focus was now completely on Izaya's hand, which was down right in front of her. Izaya didn't seem to notice that she was staring, as he didn't make any effort to sit up straight or put the pressure somewhere else.

His wrist was so small. He had the boniest hands she had ever seen, there's no way it could be normal. Without thinking, she reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, immediately noticing how fragile it was.

Izaya whipped his head around and looked down, where Namie's hand was firmly around his wrist. Anxiety started to well up inside him. "What are you doing?" Izaya asked as calmly as he could.

"What the-" Namie was cut off by Izaya ripping his arm out of Namie's grasp. Izaya stayed seated on her desk, but a wave of silence washed over them. He turned around again so he wasn't looking at her.

"Izaya-"

"What, Namie?"

Namie suddenly felt strange. Like Izaya, Izaya Orihara the "godlike" info broker of Ikebukuro and Shinjuku, was actually sort of vulnerable. She hated it.

"Your wrist is so small," Namie said, still sort of bewildered. "I could have broken it."

Despite the pit in his stomach, Namie's comment actually made Izaya get a little surge of joy. It was twisted, and he knew it.

"And?"

"Why is your wrist so small? Your hand is literally skin and bones."

"Tell me, Namie. _What_ are you trying to accomplish here?"

"I want to help you-"

"No-"

"Izaya something is _wrong _with you-"

"No, you don't. You don't want to help."

Namie was almost rendered speechless.

"_Yes_ I _do_, cause I ca-"

"No, you don't care." Izaya smirked, and Namie could feel him switch from vulnerable to asshole. She didn't even have to see his face and she knew that fucking grin had made its way back onto his face. "What you really care about, Namie, is where your next paycheck would be coming from if something happened to me. Is that right?"

This silenced her. He wasn't exactly wrong, but he wasn't right either. Either way, this whole situation was wrong. So very _wrong._

"_Izaya. You need help."_

Izaya jumped off of the desk, and strided over to his own desk. His gait was a little unsteady; he was trying to keep the panic cooped up inside of him. The last thing he wanted was to _completely_ lose his cool.

"Enlighten me then, Namie," Izaya said, his smirk fading. "What exactly do I need help with?"

"You're doing this to yourself. You are so thin, Izaya. You're killing yourself!"

That made Izaya mad- because he didn't believe it. She just called him thin; _so_ thin. It felt like the biggest slap to the face. He _wasn't _thin. She was lying to him. Every time someone called him thin; skinny, even; he couldn't get rid of the thought that they were blatantly lying right to his face.

"I'm not stupid, Izaya. You know that. If I were stupid you wouldn't have hired me." She locked eyes with him, not moving her gaze away one time. "You aren't in control of anything. You don't control anyone."

"I know. I sell requested information, and plant ideas in people's heads. I have no control over what anyone does. What they decide to make of what I say is completely up to them."

"So why do you act so high and mighty?

The laugh that escaped him made chills run down her body. "I crave control, Namie."

"You don't have control. You just said it yourself."

"Exactly. I am not in control. Not one bit. However, I can make myself believe I'm in control, whether I truly am or not."

"What's the point of believing you're in control when in reality, you're not?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

She ignored him. Namie knew what he was doing. He was playing her. However, he still gave her answers. "_I crave control._" That's what he said. Essentially, that was the answer to all of this. He looks the way he does because he craves control. By not eating, he is in control.

Izaya grinned, and swiftly left the room. She paid no attention to him now, but she could hear his footsteps heading upstairs.

She suspected that Izaya did that on purpose. He knows what he's doing. He disguised it as an answer to a question he _made_ her ask by leading the conversation in a direction that he favors. But truthfully, he was giving Namie the answer she wanted. He didn't tell her anything about _what_, but he told her _why._

"_I crave control, Namie."_


	4. Chapter 4

The brights lights of the city radiated through the window, emphasizing the nice atmosphere of their apartment. Celty was seated next to her long-time lover, leaning on him not-so-subtly. The "science-fictiony" black ooze seeping from her neck came slowly, indicating a calm demeanor. Shinra put his hand on her waist, pulling her closer. He really loved her; he truly did.

They were lost in the bright light of their TV screen, taking in one of Yuuhei Hanejima's many movies. Celty slid her PDA out of her jacket sleeve and began typing. This caught Shinra's attention immediately, earning Celty a loving smile.

[I've been wondering…]

Shinra grinned, prompting Celty to continue.

[How close are you and Izaya exactly?]

Shinra reached for the remote, and lowered the volume on the television.

He pushed up his glasses and looked Celty in the eyes. Or, where her eyes would be. He then looked away, back in the direction of the TV, but his complete and devoted attention was on Celty, not their television.

"Not as close as we used to be," Shinra said with a gloomy, reminiscent smile. "Though I guess we were never as close as we could have been."

[What does that mean?]

"We were always distant. Sure, we hung out at school all the time, but…" Shinra hesitated, frowning.

Celty almost wished she didn't ask. She tensed up, and quickly typed out, [No no it's ok, forget about it. I don't want to make you upset.] Shinra dismissively waved his hand. "It's ok. Just reminiscing, is all."

Celty relaxed, leaning completely into the couch.

"Our friendship isn't exactly… real?." The surgeon chuckled, but not happily.

[So you aren't actually friends?] Celty was confused.

"If you want to go by society's standards for a friend, then no, we aren't. But I view him as a friend and he views me as one, as far as I know."

Celty began to type, but then quickly erased it. She never liked Izaya. He was suspicious, to say the least. The second she met Izaya - it was when he and Shinra were kids- she didn't like him. But then as they grew up, and she started getting jobs through him, she _really_ didn't like him. Everything about him just seemed… wrong.

"We use each other. It's sort of a mutual agreement. We use each other for convenience, and occasional help. If he needs medical help, then I'm there. And if I need some information from him, I don't have to pay." Shinra smiled. "Well, I don't have to pay as much."

[Do you wish you two were closer?]

Shinra thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Yeah, I do." There was a long pause, silence filled only by the faint sounds from the television across from them.

"He's awful. There's no denying that; he's a terrible person. But…" Celty was intrigued. What could possibly make up for Izaya's irredeemable personality?

"He's fragile. He needs someone, but he doesn't let people in. I'm the only one who's come anywhere near close. So, we're not _true_ friends, but I'm-"

Shinra's phone buzzed, cutting him off. Celty didn't type anything, just let her boyfriend fumble around for the phone.

Gripping the phone and aggressively pushing the answer button, Shinra spoke, not even looking at who the caller was. "Hello, Kishitani speaking-"

"I need to ask you about Izaya."

The voice on the other side was sharp; clearly stressed. And Shinra didn't recognize it.

"Sorry, who is this?"

"Namie Yagiri."

"Ohhhh yeah of course. Sorry."

Namie sighed, and Shinra realized she sounded different from normal. Namie didn't shake like this.

"You've known Izaya for a long time, right?"

Shinra sensed the urgency in her voice and stood up, nodding to Celty. After a swift thumbs up from the headless rider, he left the room.

"I've known him since middle school, why?"

"Is something wrong with him?"

_So many things._

Shinra tensed. He knew personal things about Izaya - things relating to something being wrong with him. He's had to stitch him up before.

Izaya would come into his apartment unannounced, bleeding heavily from differing places on his body, most commonly his thighs. He'd ask, or more like demand, that Shinra give him stitches. It was alarming at first, but it became a frequent occurrence. Then suddenly, he stopped coming.

"...Like what?"

"I know you know, just tell me."

Was it really right for him to tell her Izaya's personal information? Simply put, no it wasn't. Izaya trusted him, somewhat, and Izaya's personal information was extremely important and private.

"Look, Yagiri-San, Orihara-kun and I aren't that close. I do know a lot about him, but you of all people should know how he feels about giving his personal information," Shinra said, scratching his head. "I can't just give you personal details without a reason."

He could almost _hear_ the hesitation on the other side. He heard shuffling for a moment, and then silence.

"He doesn't eat,"

Shinra's heart almost stopped. "I'm sorry?"

"He doesn't eat. You need to do something about it."

Shinra knew what this meant. It's not what he expected; he expected her to ask about the self-harm, but he knew what this meant.

"Does he look normal?"

"No."

Shinra thought he'd puke.

"Hm?"

"He's too thin. The man's a stick," Namie spoke with her usual cynical tone, but her voice shook.

"...I'll talk to him. Thanks for letting me know"

Shinra pressed the end call button with alarms going off in his head. He should've known. All the times in school when Izaya refused to eat; when he had water or diet iced tea for lunch. It should've been clear, but for some reason it wasn't. It wasn't clear until someone had to point it out to him.

Izaya's unstable- Shinra knew that much. So, he should've been paying more attention. After Izaya stopped coming over for stitches, he stopped worrying. He assumed that everything was fine. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it? Sure, until a childhood "friend" is on their way to death because you couldn't be bothered to check up on them.

Shinra held back tears.


	5. quick announcement! (not discontinuing)

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